A Little Help from Cupid
by chelsie fan
Summary: Mrs. Patmore sees two friends very obviously in love, but the couple in question have done nothing to help their own cause. When the cook can no longer bear to watch them stumbling along and getting nowhere, she takes it upon herself to try to bring them together.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This is a belated birthday gift for the lovely libbybell/putmeinyourpocketmike. It's the first chapter of a four- or five-chapter story. I can't promise how soon the others will follow, but it shouldn't be too terribly long. The chapters will all be set between the S4 CS and the S5 CS, in the time between the hand-holding at the beach and the proposal (a span of time that seemed ridiculously long to me!). Libbybell and everyone else, I hope you enjoy it!**

 _Summer, 1923, London, Grantham House, sometime just after the "day by the sea"_

Mrs. Patmore had watched her two friends paddle in the surf at the seaside. The butler and housekeeper had held hands happily, wading in the surf. It had been a long time since the cook had seen either of them so cheerful and carefree. She had thought it certain that they'd finally declared their love, a love that was abundantly obvious to the cook and to anyone who paid any attention at all … but a love that the two lovebirds had yet to acknowledge to each other or to anyone else, apparently. The couple had certainly seemed pleased after the staff's outing to the seaside, but in the days that followed, as far as Mrs. Patmore could tell, nothing seemed to change between them. So she took it upon herself to investigate and to provide a bit of gentle prodding if necessary. During a lull in the downstairs activity one afternoon, she took a tray with tea to Mrs. Bute's sitting room, currently inhabited by Mrs. Hughes until its rightful occupant recovered from her illness and returned to work.

"Would you care for some tea, Mrs. Hughes, or are you busy?" called Mrs. Patmore through the open door.

"I'm _always_ busy, Mrs. Patmore, but I'm never too busy for tea and a chat with a friend," answered Mrs. Hughes, smiling, closing her ledger, and setting down her pen.

Mrs. Patmore entered the room, and Mrs. Hughes rose from her borrowed desk. The cook set down the tray, and the women prepared their tea and settled themselves into two chairs for a brief afternoon break.

Mrs. Patmore took a sip of tea and sighed. "Oh, it's nice to get off your feet for five minutes."

"A little respite from work is always a welcome thing," agreed Mrs. Hughes, unwittingly providing her friend with the opening she sought.

"Speaking of which, we haven't really spoken since then, but our little outing by the sea last week was very nice," ventured Mrs. Patmore.

"Oh, yes, it was lovely." The housekeeper smiled genuinely at the thought, but she said nothing further.

"You and Mr. Carson seemed to enjoy yourselves," Mrs. Patmore gently prodded.

"I think _everyone_ did," Mrs. Hughes returned.

But the cook persisted. "But the two of you in particular seemed especially … " – she wasn't quite sure how to continue – " .. erm … content."

Mrs. Hughes chuckled at that assessment. "I can assure you that Mr. Carson was far from 'content' at the start of the afternoon. He was convinced that something awful was going to happen – that someone would be injured or something would be lost or damaged. I believe he spent the first couple of hours nervously waiting for some catastrophe to happen. But after a time, he began to relax a bit. I even managed to persuade him to go into the water and get his feet wet! He likely won't admit it, but I think he enjoyed himself, in the end."

"Quite right. I haven't seen him so jolly in a long time. _Ever_ , maybe."

"I'm not sure ' _jolly_ ' is a word I would ever use to describe Mr. Carson!" said Mrs. Hughes, causing both women to laugh. "But I do think he was satisfied with the outing."

"Did he say that? Did you two speak afterwards?"

"Well, naturally we've _spoken_ since then, but not specifically about the outing. As you know, it's been quite busy here. But I'm sure he considers the outing a success. He'd certainly have let us know if he'd been _dis_ pleased with it! Mr. Carson's not one to keep quiet when he's not happy about something."

"No, he's one to keep quiet when he _is_ happy about something," Mrs. Patmore remarked.

"True enough!" agreed Mrs. Hughes with a fond smile. "And he often needs quite a bit of prodding before he does whatever it is that makes him happy."

"And that's _your_ job, I suppose?" And Mrs. Patmore raised an eyebrow.

"Sometimes, it is," allowed Mrs. Hughes. "Oftentimes, times the poor, dear man doesn't even know what's good for him. He doesn't know a good thing when it's staring him right in the face!"

"Hmph. You can say that again!" Mrs. Patmore concurred. "And that's true for someone else I know, too!" she said to herself, quietly muttering under her breath.

"I beg your pardon. What was that?"

Mrs. Patmore continued cautiously. "Oh, nothing. Never mind. Only I wonder if you and Mr. Carson are planning any more … outings together?"

Mrs. Hughes quickly dismissed the suggestion. "Oh, I should think not. Not for a long time. Her ladyship was very generous in allowing everyone the time off and in paying our train fares, and things are very busy now. I imagine it will be quite some time before the staff all have a day off together for an outing – certainly not before we get back to Downton. Perhaps the next time there's a fair in the village, we can all go."

"No, that's not what I meant. What about just you and Mr. Carson, the two of you alone? Say, taking a half-day together and going for tea in the village?"

The housekeeper seemed truly perplexed by her friend's suggestion. "And why should we do that? We have tea together nearly every afternoon."

"Yes, you do – in your sitting room or his pantry or the servants' hall, where you might be interrupted at any moment and where you talk of the family and staff and business of the house."

"Well, what else should we talk of?" Mrs. Hughes wanted to know.

"Oh, I don't know. News? Books? The weather? Something frivolous or enjoyable? Perhaps even something more personal."

The housekeeper scoffed at that. "I can't see Mr. Carson wanting to waste his time by going to the village simply to take tea and to talk of frivolous subjects!"

Mrs. Patmore feared that she was being too subtle to get her point across, but she didn't want to anger Mrs. Hughes by being too direct, so she tried a stronger hint. "Well, not necessarily 'frivolous.' But nothing related to work. Something a bit more … _intimate_ … than you can manage at the house. Don't you two have any _private_ matters you'd like to discuss?"

"Private matters? Like what?" Mrs. Hughes still failed to comprehend what her friend was implying – or else she knew _exactly_ what her friend was implying but continued to feign ignorance.

"Well, perhaps if you had the chance, you might _find_ something private to discuss! Or perhaps you don't need to talk at all. Maybe you can simply … enjoy one another's company." Mrs. Patmore raised her eyebrows meaningfully, hoping that she might convey with looks what she couldn't quite put into words.

Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth to speak, but her response was forestalled by Ivy's knock at the door.

"Mrs. Patmore, Daisy says to come quick!" cried the kitchen maid. "She says I ruined the pudding, but it weren't my fault – I swear! I done just as she said!"

"All right, all right. I'm coming," the cook huffed. She turned to Mrs. Hughes to say, "You see what I mean about the interruptions? A body can't enjoy five minutes' peace before there's some emergency!" Mrs. Patmore shook her head in dismay, gathered the tea things, picked up the tray, and followed Ivy to address the latest kitchen catastrophe. She resolved to leave the housekeeper and butler to their own devices for the time being. But if a romance were not to blossom soon without her help, she would feel no compunction in meddling again.

 _To be continued_ …

 **A/N I'm sorry that there was no Chelsie in this chapter, and I don't think there will be any Chelsie in the next one, either. But after that, it will be** _ **all**_ **Chelsie, so please stick with me. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thank you ever so much for all the kind reviews for the first chapter! Your encouragement and support keep me writing. Please believe me when I tell you how important your feedback is. Special shout-out to the guest reviewers to whom I wasn't able to send a personal thank you.**

 **This is the second installment of libbybell's birthday gift. I hope she likes it, and I hope the rest of you like it, too.**

 _Winter, early 1924, Yorkshire, Downton Village, St. Michael and All Angels Parish Church_

Mrs. Patmore pulled on her gloves and arranged her coat and scarf tightly around her neck as she walked out of the church with Daisy and Mr. Mason after the morning's services. She noticed Mrs. Hughes speaking with some men and women from the village. Some distance away, Mr. Carson stood talking with Mr. Travis. When some other parishioners approached the good vicar to speak with him, Mr. Carson was left standing alone.

"Excuse me, please," said Mrs. Patmore to her companions. "I just need to speak with Mr. Carson. I'll be back in a moment."

"Certainly," said Mr. Mason, and Daisy nodded politely.

The cook took her leave and advanced on Mr. Carson. The previous summer, she had watched the butler and housekeeper holding hands and wading in the sea together, and Mrs. Patmore had had high hopes that the two heads of staff might see fit to advance their friendship into a relationship of a more romantic nature. However, in the months that followed, her friends seemed to make no progress towards that end, even after she'd dropped some heavy hints to Mrs. Hughes. She wondered whether she might have better luck with Mr. Carson and decided that she had nothing to lose by trying to speak with him. So focused was he on gazing at Mrs. Hughes that he didn't even notice Mrs. Patmore's arrival.

"Lovely sermon this morning, wasn't it?" she asked loudly to get his attention.

Mr. Carson reluctantly turned his eyes away from the object of his interest. "Hmm? Oh, yes. Very inspirational."

"Looks like Mrs. Hughes is quite popular today," remarked Mrs. Patmore, casting her eyes and inclining her head towards the housekeeper amidst the group of villagers.

"She's got many friends in the village, it seems," agreed Mr. Carson.

"Mr. Carson, I've been wanting to ask you something…" began Mrs. Patmore, "…and I hope it's not too forward, you see. Only I wonder about you and Mrs. Hughes."

"Yes? What about us?"

"Well, you're very friendly, the two of you."

"Yes, I would say we're good friends."

"You're _fond_ of each other, even, I would say. You _care_ for each other."

"Yes, I suppose one might say that," allowed Mr. Carson, speaking slowly and warily, as if he both suspected and feared where the conversation might lead.

Mrs. Patmore pressed on boldly. "Well, I wonder whether you might have an arrangement, an understanding."

"What?!" cried Mr. Carson. "What do you mean?"

"Only I saw you holding her hand that day at the seaside last summer, and I thought that maybe the two of you had come to some agreement."

Mr. Carson's face had turned red, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Oh, I see. It wasn't … quite like _that_. I was concerned that I might … stumble … or … get my clothing wet. Mrs. Hughes kindly offered to steady me."

"You thought you might _stumble_?! And she offered to _steady_ you?! In six inches of water? With tiny waves at your ankles and smooth sand underfoot? Mr. Carson, you're the most sure-footed man I know. And if you _had_ lost your footing, I doubt Mrs. Hughes would have been much help! Have you noticed how much smaller than you she is?"

He cleared his throat nervously. "Yes, well. Nevertheless, it's always prudent to have some … _support_ … when … traversing unknown ground or … navigating unfamiliar waters."

"Oh, I couldn't agree more. It's always nice to have someone you can rely on when you're charting a new course." She eyed him knowingly, meaningfully, but he returned her look with a skeptical expression. Charging forward before he could respond, she continued. "Speaking of charting a new course, Mr. Carson ... have you ever thought about your life in retirement?"

Mr. Carson appeared to be struggling to keep up with the conversation. He shook his head and blinked his eyes. "What? When were we speaking of retirement?"

"Just now. I asked if you've considered it."

"Well, I don't know. Not really. Why would I want to retire?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Well, _I_ would. Not right now, mind. I'm still in good health, and I've a few good years of work left in me. But maybe before too long. I'll have a small pension from the estate, and I've a little saved up. It might be nice to sit back and put my feet up – enjoy life a little, you know. ' Course, it would be nice to have some company, someone to share my later years, you see – so that I wouldn't be lonely. If I found the right man, that is."

Mr. Carson only replied, "That's … very nice, Mrs. Patmore."

Luck was in favor of Mrs. Patmore's plan that day, for at that moment, the women with whom Mrs. Hughes had been speaking departed, and the housekeeper was left conversing with three men. The butler noticed immediately, and his attention was drawn to the little group.

Mrs. Patmore saw her opportunity and used it to her advantage. "Do you ever wonder if _Mrs. Hughes_ would like to retire someday? From the look of things, she could have her pick of any man in the village … if she had a mind to marry. And why shouldn't she? There are plenty of nice, eligible men in the village and on the estate – widowers and bachelors who might like to find themselves wives. And Mrs. Hughes is a fine woman. Nice-looking, too. Any man would be lucky to call her his own."

Mr. Carson now appeared quite concerned, and he asked, "Do you suppose one of them has designs on her?"

"Well, I wouldn't know, now, would I, Mr. Carson?"

"But do you really think Mrs. Hughes might be considering retirement and … " – and here Mr. Carson cleared his throat – " … marriage?"

"You're asking _me_? I'm sure _I_ don't know. If you want to know her thoughts on the subject, then why don't you ask _Mrs. Hughes_?" And Mrs. Patmore now looked at Mr. Carson pointedly.

Mr. Carson spluttered and coughed at Mrs. Patmore's forthright suggestion, but he was spared further discomfort when Daisy and Mr. Mason joined the two of them.

"Are you ready to leave, Mrs. Patmore?" Mr. Mason asked. "I told Daisy I'd see you both safely back to the big house. It's muddy and sloppy today, and there are puddles in the lane. We can't have either of you falling in a rut or some such. I've got two good arms, one for each of you." The kind farmer smiled at the cook, holding out the arm that was not occupied by his daughter-in-law.

"Oh! Why, thank you, Mr. Mason! That's very kind, indeed!" agreed Mrs. Patmore with a pleasant grin, and she took Mr. Mason's arm. Then she turned to Mr. Carson and suggested, "Mr. Carson, perhaps you should go and collect Mrs. Hughes now. You might even offer her your arm to walk back – or at least hold her hand. You heard Mr. Mason: the ground is treacherous today. You wouldn't want her to … _stumble_ … or to … _get her clothing wet_."

Mr. Carson didn't reply, but as the threesome made their way into the lane, Mrs. Patmore was pleased to notice that he puffed out his chest and strode proudly over to Mrs. Hughes and her companions. Obviously, the cook couldn't hear what was said, but in very short order, the housekeeper had said her goodbyes to the group and was walking away on the arm of the butler. Both wore delighted smiles.

Mr. Mason, noting where Mrs. Patmore's attention was directed, leaned towards her and asked, "Mrs. Patmore … is there … something between those two?"

Mrs. Patmore sighed and replied, "I certainly hope so, Mr. Mason. I certainly hope so."

 **A/N Thank you for reading. More to come as soon as reasonably possible. Please review if you you're able. I'd be much obliged.**

 **Also, many thanks to my proofreader – chelsie fan jr., jr., jr.? chelsie fan IV? – my youngest daughter, that is. She proofread this for me, caught a few typos, and made a couple of valid points and useful suggestions.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Wow! Thank you for all of the kind reviews and supportive words. You people are great! I'm bowled over.**

 **Here's chapter 3. I hope you enjoy it. Just for reference, it takes place between Episode 2 and Episode 3 of Season 5. And it's before the whole thing with Archie and the war memorial, so there's no friction between Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Carson yet. We continue to celebrate libbybell's birthday** _ **well**_ **past its actual date. And speaking of a** _ **date**_ **…**

 _Spring, 1924, Yorkshire, Downton Abbey_

Mrs. Patmore grew increasingly frustrated as she continued to watch her two friends bumbling along and making no discernible progress towards proclaiming their love for each other. She'd briefly entertained the notion, fanciful as it was, that perhaps they _had indeed_ professed their love to one another but had been withholding any public announcement. She'd summarily dispensed with that theory, however, when she considered the fact that Mr. Carson was, without a doubt, the most transparent man on the face of the planet. The man simply could not keep a secret, even if his very life depended on it. Mrs. Hughes might have had half a chance at discretion, but Mr. Carson was no better than a lovesick schoolboy. Furthermore, Mrs. Patmore felt sure that _neither_ Mr. Carson _nor_ Mrs. Hughes _would ever want_ to withhold the announcement of any understanding between them. Surely, they would do things properly, openly; they would be _proud_ and _eager_ to share their good news. And so Mrs. Patmore was left to conclude, based on the information available to her, that the housekeeper and butler had not yet revealed their feelings to each other or reached any agreement regarding their future together. Her prior attempts to nudge them in the right direction having proven fruitless (or nearly enough so), she thought it was now time to prod them again – or perhaps even to _shove_ them outright!

One afternoon, the three senior staff members sat in Mrs. Hughes's sitting room taking tea together and discussing an upcoming dinner party. After they sorted out the details for the party, their conversation turned from household matters to more leisurely subjects. When they spoke of the weather and the latest gossip from the village, Mrs. Patmore saw her opening.

"Mrs. Hughes, what would you say to spending the afternoon in the village tomorrow?" suggested Mrs. Patmore. "The family will be away for the day, and there's no pressing business at the moment. The weather's been so fine. It would be lovely to have a day out."

Mrs. Hughes thought for a moment. "That might be nice. I've a few errands in the village anyway, some things to see to. I might as well take some time and make a day of it."

"And what about you, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Patmore continued. "Are you free tomorrow after luncheon?"

Mr. Carson also paused to contemplate his answer. "Well, I had planned to take care of some odds and ends round here, but there's nothing that can't be put off. I imagine I could get away for a few hours," he said.

"Wonderful!" declared the cook. "It's all settled then. Let's see … Shall we say two o'clock? Yes, I think that's reasonable." She beamed delightedly and judged it wise to make her escape before she gave too much away. She stood and began to gather the tea things onto her tray. "Well, I'd best get back to my roast. Dinner won't cook itself, you know." She beat a hasty retreat and left the two would-be lovebirds to wonder at her abrupt departure.

The next afternoon, when Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson presented themselves in the kitchen, ready for an afternoon out, Mrs. Patmore was elbow-deep in bread dough.

"Mrs. Patmore?" called Mrs. Hughes. "We did say two o'clock, didn't we? Or do you need some more time?"

Mrs. Patmore affected an air of innocence. "What's that you say, Mrs. Hughes? More time for what?"

"Well, you're not ready to go," observed Mr. Carson.

"To go where?" Mrs. Patmore maintained the charade, wrinkling her brow for effect.

"Why, to the village! The three of us. We made plans yesterday," Mr. Carson reminded her. "Have you forgotten?"

"Are you daft?" The cook affected an air of disbelief. " _I'm_ not going."

Mr. Carson was clearly baffled. "But … but you invited us to join you. You said you were going and – "

Mrs. Patmore waved her hands in the air. "I never said anything of the sort! I can't be gallivanting around town all day. I've far too much work to do."

"So … we're _not_ going?" asked Mr. Carson, evidently still trying to get the measure of the situation.

"Well, _I'm_ not going, but _you_ are," explained Mrs. Patmore. "I thought you both might enjoy some time away from the house. You so rarely take time for yourselves. That's why I suggested it."

Mrs. Hughes looked doubtful and perhaps a little suspicious. "And you're certain you couldn't go along? We'd miss your company."

"Ha!" cried Mrs. Patmore, still kneading her dough. "Not likely! Besides, _someone's_ got to mind the shop round here. With the two of you gone, that ' _someone_ ' is yours truly. Oh, and I've rung Mrs. Curtis and told her to expect you at the tea shop round four. She's promised to save you that quiet table in the corner. And there's no need to hurry back. With the family out, dinner down here is going to be rather 'catch as catch can,' nothing special. So if you do miss it, I can put something together for you when you get back. And if you're not back when the family return, I'm sure we can get them all sorted without you. Now, go on! Be off with you!" She made some very insistent shooing motions and drove them both from the kitchen, but she was able to overhear a bit of their conversation as they lingered in the corridor between the kitchen and the back door.

"Mrs. Hughes, what was that all about?" wondered Mr. Carson.

Mrs. Hughes chuckled lightly. "I'm not entirely sure Mr. Carson, but it seems Mrs. Patmore has arranged an outing for us."

Mr. Carson was silent for a moment, and Mrs. Patmore worried that he might decide not to go after all. Apparently, Mrs. Hughes shared the same concern.

"If you'd rather not go, Mr. Carson, I understand," Mrs. Hughes deferred. "I know it's … not what you'd expected." Her disappointment was obvious in the tone of her voice.

"No!" cried Mr. Carson – just a bit too forcefully. He calmed himself before continuing. "I was only surprised, that's all. And quite confused by Mrs. Patmore's behavior, to be honest. What I mean to say is … I'd still like to go – that is, if you're agreeable, Mrs. Hughes. It's all arranged, and I hate to change a plan when there's no need."

"Well! When you put it that way … I suppose we must!" she said, and Mrs. Patmore was certain that Mrs. Hughes was now smiling, perhaps even _smirking_.

Mrs. Patmore smiled, too, as the sounds of her friends' voices grew muted and she heard the back door opening and closing.

The cook spent the rest of the afternoon busying herself with her own work and with supervising the downstairs activities in the absence of the housekeeper and butler, but Mrs. Patmore was preoccupied with thoughts of what the two might be doing and whether anything noteworthy was happening between them.

Evening arrived, but Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson did not. At first, Mrs. Patmore thought this was a good sign, assuming that they had taken to heart her recommendation not to hurry back and that they were simply enjoying themselves. It didn't worry her that it had grown dark outside; it was a clear night, and the moon was bright enough that they could easily find their way back to the house along the familiar path. But as the hour grew later, she began to worry that something unfortunate might have befallen them. The family had returned from their day out, had been greeted and attended by Mr. Barrow and Mr. Molesley, and had been settled into bed for the night by Mr. Bates, Anna, and Miss Baxter. Mr. Bates and Anna had gone home to their cottage, and most of the other servants had gone to sleep, too. Besides Mrs. Patmore, only Miss Baxter and Mr. Molesley remained below stairs, talking quietly in the servants' hall. Soon, however, they, too, said good night and headed upstairs to their respective rooms.

Now Mrs. Patmore was the only one lingering downstairs, and she deliberated over what she should do next. She couldn't lock up and go to sleep; if she did, then Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes would have no way to get back inside the house. Neither did the cook fancy the idea of turning in for the night _without_ having locked the back door; if she did _that_ , then she would fret over the possibility that harm may have come to her friends … _and_ the possibility that an intruder might gain entry. She pondered the idea of posting a hall boy to wait up for the absent heads of staff, but she decided against that plan. Regardless of whether she left the door locked or unlocked and regardless of whether or not she assigned a hall boy to stand guard duty, Mrs. Patmore knew she would not sleep until the butler and housekeeper had returned safely. And so she made herself a cup of tea and sat down at her little desk in the kitchen to read the newspaper.

Apparently, Mrs. Patmore had been wrong in her assumption that she would be unable to sleep, for at some point, she did indeed nod off. She awakened to the sound of the back door opening and closing, followed by shuffling noises, whispers, and quiet laughter. She wondered whether she could turn off the small lamp on her desk (it was the only light left burning besides the one in the corridor near the back door) and try to remain hidden in the shadows, but she feared that she wouldn't be able to accomplish such action quickly and quietly enough to go unnoticed. When she remembered that she had just been asleep, she determined that her most prudent course of action would be to put her head back down on her desk and pretend that she _still was_ asleep. That would allow her friends a few more moments to speak candidly – _and_ it would afford her the chance perhaps to overhear a few snatches of conversation and to glean some information about the status of their relationship. She hadn't intended to eavesdrop on a private conversation, but she didn't want to alert them to her presence and thereby interrupt a potentially important moment. A golden opportunity had fallen into Mrs. Patmore's lap, and she was wise enough to take full advantage of it. From her position, she was just barely able to hear the hushed tones of the conversation occurring in the corridor.

"Thank you for spending the day with me, Mrs. Hughes. I enjoyed your company," said Mr. Carson.

"I had a lovely time, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes told him. "Thank _you_."

"It was my pleasure. Truly. Only I'm sorry I kept you out so late."

"Oh, nonsense! I'm hardly Cinderella, fearing I'll turn back into a maid at midnight. I'm _already_ a servant!" Mrs. Hughes chuckled lightly.

Mr. Carson didn't laugh. Instead, he was quiet for a moment. Then Mrs. Patmore thought she heard two muffled footfalls, presumably as Mr. Carson stepped closer to Mrs. Hughes. His voice was softer when he responded, and Mrs. Patmore had to strain to hear him. "You're quite right when you say that you're not Cinderella. You see, _her_ charm, _her_ enchantment ... _faded_ , whereas _yours_ – "

At this point, Mrs. Patmore was holding her breath and biting her tongue, fearing she might be in danger of squeaking in delight and thus revealing herself. However, circumstances dictated, at this very instant, an interruption from a different quarter. For just then, the stairs creaked, and Mr. Molesley's voice could be heard.

"Oh! Mr. Carson! Mrs. Hughes! You're back, then," observed the footman. "Only you've returned rather late. Nothing's happened, I hope."

"No, Mr. Molesley, nothing has happened. Everything is perfectly fine, thank you," growled Mr. Carson, hardly bothering to contain his annoyance. "But I presume you haven't come downstairs at this hour in your pajamas to polish the silver. Do you need something?"

"Yes, well, I just came to get my book," Mr. Molesley explained. "I left it in the servants' hall earlier when I was speaking with Miss Baxter. I suppose I must have been distracted."

"I see. I daresay you were _quite_ distracted. Go on, then. Retrieve your book and be on your way!" ordered Mr. Carson.

"Er … yes, of course, Mr. Carson. Right away," stammered the poor man, who clearly had no idea what he'd done wrong _this time_ to deserve the butler's irritation.

Mrs. Patmore decided that making her presence known at this point could do no further harm, so she set her teacup aside, folded her newspaper, switched off her lamp, and made her way out of the kitchen and into the corridor, calling, "Hello?"

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Patmore," said Mrs. Hughes, turning and smiling. "I didn't realize you were still down here. I hope you weren't waiting up for us."

"I was dozing at my desk. You see, I wasn't sure what to do," the cook explained. "Mr. Carson usually does the locking up. It's rare that he's out so late."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Patmore. I didn't mean to trouble you. I hadn't intended for us to be out so late, and I hadn't even thought about the door. You should have asked a hall boy … or … even _Mr. Molesley_ , who is _still wide awake_ , it seems," said the butler through gritted teeth.

The footman in question, having recovered his book, reappeared in the corridor, offered a hurried good night to the three others, and ascended the stairs.

"Are you hungry?" asked Mrs. Patmore. "There are some leftovers from dinner. I can put together a couple of plates for you, if you like."

"No, thank you, Mrs. Patmore. We've eaten," Mr. Carson told her.

"But tea was _hours ago_! You must be famished by now!" argued the cook, who enjoyed feeding people almost as much as she enjoyed actually cooking the food.

"Mr. Carson bought us dinner at The Dog and Duck," said Mrs. Hughes, looking shyly but fondly at Mr. Carson.

Mrs. Patmore raised her eyebrows. "Oh, I see. He did, did he?"

The butler cleared his throat. He looked uncomfortable and must have felt the need to elaborate. "Yes, well, we sat talking at the tea shop longer than we'd anticipated, and then we went for a walk through the village. Time must have slipped away from us. When we realized how late it was, I suggested to Mrs. Hughes that we take our dinner at the pub. I didn't want to inconvenience you when we returned."

"Well, it was awfully considerate of you to think of me in that way, Mr. Carson," said Mrs. Patmore. She had no doubt that his consideration for her convenience weighed far less in his thinking than did his desire to spend more time with a certain housekeeper. "Right, then. If you'll not be needing me, I'll take myself off to bed. You two carry on without me. Good night to you both."

"I'll go up with you," suggested Mrs. Hughes.

"NO!" cried Mrs. Patmore, panicking. She was disappointed that Mr. Molesley had interrupted … _something_ … earlier. Mr. Carson had said that Mrs. Hughes was enchanting and charming, and Mrs. Patmore felt reasonably certain that he had been going to tell Mrs. Hughes that she was beautiful. Perhaps he might even have kissed her … if not for Mr. Molesley's unfortunate timing! Mrs. Patmore did _not_ want Mrs. Hughes to accompany her upstairs right now, so she tried to think of an excuse for the housekeeper to remain downstairs with the butler. "I mean … I … You … Oh, I left the kettle on the stove! The fire should be out by now, but would you mind checking it for me, Mrs. Hughes? I'd do it myself, but these old bones won't hold me up much longer tonight."

"I can do that for you," offered Mr. Carson. "You ladies go on up."

"NO!" cried the cook again. "That is to say … " She cast about desperately, grasping at anything that might supply a suitable pretext. "Ooh! I'd nearly forgotten! I've baked some biscuits from a new receipt that Alfred sent me. I tasted one earlier, and it was quite good, but I'd be curious to know what you both think. I've left the biscuits in the tin on the counter, and there's some milk in the refrigerator. Why don't you help yourselves?"

"Well … " said Mr. Carson, with exaggerated slowness, as if he actually needed to convince himself. "I've never been one to turn down sweets. Mrs. Hughes, would you care to join me?" And he looked at Mrs. Hughes with such eager, earnest hopefulness that Mrs. Patmore knew the housekeeper _would not_ and _could not_ refuse him.

"Certainly, Mr. Carson," replied Mrs. Hughes, grinning. "I do love a good biscuit."

Mr. Carson returned her smile before holding his arm outstretched before him, inviting her to precede him into the kitchen. "Shall we?"

"Good night, Mrs. Patmore. And thank you," Mrs. Hughes said, sparing Mrs. Patmore a backwards glance over her shoulder as she made her way towards the kitchen.

"Oh. Yes. Thank you. Good night," muttered Mr. Carson distractedly.

It was clear to Mrs. Patmore that her presence was now extraneous, which was exactly what she'd hoped. She smiled to herself as she mounted the stairs, sending up a prayer of thanksgiving for progress made … and a prayer of supplication for progress yet to come.

 **A/N Ok, a few things here.**

 **Firstly, thank you to evitamockingbird for her suggestions and help with this chapter. I was stuck, and a conversation with her helped to get me unstuck. Her ideas are always good ones.**

 **Secondly, Mrs. Patmore is all of us fangirls, you see. She's watched our beloved couple slowly grow closer. She saw them both in pain and supported them both when they thought Mrs. Hughes might have had cancer. And when the two lovebirds held hands on the beach, she sat there grinning madly, eating her ice cream and squeeing internally. She invited them both along to go house-hunting with her, thereby planting the seed for Mr. Carson's suggestion that they buy a property together with an eye to retirement. Heck, she even had "the talk" with them both later on. She's gone through every emotion that we have, only** _ **she**_ **has the advantage of being in a position to be able to** _ **do**_ **something about it. So in this story, at least, she's going to do what we fangirls wish we could have done all along.**

 **Thirdly, I wondered whether it might be too forward to have Mr. Carson flirt as openly as he did here, calling Mrs. Hughes "charming" and "enchanting." It seemed a bit much to me at first. But then I remembered the "Get away with you!" scene, and if that wasn't blatant flirting, then this is no worse. And this takes place right around that time, too. There was definitely some heavy-duty flirting and low-key seduction going on in canon at that point, so after giving the matter some consideration, I decided his brazenness is reasonable. I hope you think so, too.**

 **And lastly, I** _ **looooove**_ **Mr. Molesley. I really and truly adore him. But he's such an easy target! He's not nearly as incapable as we're sometimes led to believe, but he** _ **is**_ **unlucky. He's always in the wrong place at the wrong time. If there's a mistake to be made, he's there, ready to make it.** _ **Mis**_ **fortune smiles upon him. Fortune** _ **frowns**_ **upon him. Perhaps "Murphy's Law" should more appropriately be called "Molesley's Law."**

 **Oh! Also, this chapter was inspired by the following tumblr post that I saw from tsutomi-goshiki:**

 _ **person C: hey, are you free on Friday? like around 8 pm on Friday?**_

 _ **person B: yes?**_

 _ **person C: what about you?**_

 _ **person A: yes, I am**_

 _ **person C: great! because I'm not. you two go on without me. enjoy your date**_

 _ **person B: did he just -**_

 **Libbybell, I hope you're still enjoying your gift! I'm sorry it's dragging so slowly, but we're getting there. I think there will probably be three more chapters.**

 **Reviews are neither required nor demanded, but they are politely requested and much appreciated. Please and thank you.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Thank you so much for your continued encouragement!**

 **This chapter is both the continuation of libbybell's birthday story and my offering for Week 1 of the unofficial Downton Abbey Season 8. (If you don't know about it and you'd like more information, please see my tumblr page or send me a message.)**

 _Autumn, 1924, Yorkshire, Downton Abbey_

Mrs. Hughes had called Mrs. Patmore into the housekeeper's sitting room one evening after dinner, and the two sat talking at the small table.

"He's done what?!" cried Mrs. Patmore, who hovered somewhere between disbelief and incomprehension.

"Mrs. Patmore, there's no need to shout," Mrs. Hughes scolded gently. "You'll frighten half the county! If you've not heard me, then ask me – _at a normal speaking volume_ – to repeat myself."

"Oh, I've heard you, all right. Only I don't understand … or … quite believe it, really. You say that Mr. Carson has asked you to buy a house with him?"

"That's right," the housekeeper confirmed.

" _And_ … ?" prompted Mrs. Patmore.

" _And_ … what?"

"For what purpose? Do you intend to _live_ in it? _Together_?"

"Heavens, no!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed. "It's meant to be an _investment_ property. A _business_ venture. Like _your_ house. We intend to fix it up and rent out the rooms."

"Oh, I see," said the cook, a little deflated. "So you and Mr. Carson are to be _business_ partners, then?"

"Yes, that's the idea," insisted Mrs. Hughes.

Mrs. Patmore thought for a moment. That the housekeeper and butler would someday own a house together was, of course, precisely what Mrs. Patmore had hoped all along. She'd invited them both to accompany her when she was looking at potential properties for herself, and she'd hoped that the trio's little expedition would get her friends thinking along those lines for their own purposes. However, she'd imagined _their_ future house to be a _home_ : a cottage for just the two of them, where they lived together, happily married – _not_ a place to be rented out to others!

Mrs. Hughes's voice pulled the cook from her musings. "And so we've a favor to ask you, Mrs. Patmore. Mr. Carson and I would like to go and look at some properties together, and we think the best time might be after Lady Rose's wedding, while the family are away at Brancaster Castle. Do you think you might be able to manage things here without the two of us for a few hours one afternoon? I hate to impose, but with the family gone and many of the staff along with them, everything should be pretty calm and quiet here at the house."

"Think nothing of it, Mrs. Hughes. It's no trouble at all," Mrs. Patmore assured her friend.

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. It would be a great help to us."

The cook smiled, nodded, excused herself, and returned to the kitchen. The news she had just received was an interesting development. It was not as much progress as she'd wished, but it _was_ advancement, and she was sure she could somehow manipulate the situation to nudge her friends closer.

Three weeks later, the scheduled day arrived, and the cook sent the housekeeper and the butler off on their mission with her sincere good wishes and a hamper of food. They were gone for most of the day, and they returned looking tired and happy.

"How did it go, then?" Mrs. Patmore asked when her friends appeared in the kitchen to return the hamper and the few items remaining inside it. "Any luck?"

"Oh, we've found several viable possibilities. We'll need to obtain some more information, and I'll need to do the sums and compare, but I'd wager that one of the properties we saw today is the right one for us," Mr. Carson declared confidently.

"Oh, I _am_ glad to hear it!" The cook offered them a sincere smile.

"I'm going to wash up and change my clothes. I'll be back down shortly," Mrs. Hughes informed the others as she set the hamper down on the table, and she went on her way.

"I'm going to do the same … only … I'd like to speak to you first, Mrs. Patmore, if you can spare a moment or two," said Mr. Carson.

"Certainly, Mr. Carson. What can I do for you?" asked the cook.

"I'm afraid you've already done it!" he told her.

"What?! I don't understand," said Mrs. Patmore. Thinking this might be a conversation that warranted some privacy, she turned to her assistants and thought of an errand to assign them. "Daisy, go and fetch me some potatoes from the root cellar. A dozen or so. And Ivy, you go, too. I'll need about a dozen carrots, too, and half a dozen onions."

Ivy made a face, but Daisy simply said, "Yes, Mrs. Patmore," and pulled Ivy out of the kitchen.

"Now, what's this all about?" the cook asked the butler once they were alone.

"It's about the hamper you packed for us," Mr. Carson began. "It was very kind of you, and I hope I don't sound unappreciative, but … Strawberries and chocolate? Whipped cream? And how did you procure a bottle of champagne? It was all delicious, of course, but, well … Don't you think that those things are better suited to a younger couple? A courting couple, perhaps?"

"Are they, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Patmore asked innocently. "Only I wouldn't know. You see, I have so little experience with such things. But I'm glad to know that you're so well-versed in matters of … romance."

"Well, I do like to keep my eyes and ears open. I get about, Mrs. Patmore. I get about," he told her, looking pleased with himself.

"Oh, indeed. You're a real man of the world, you are."

He frowned at her. "Mrs. Patmore, are you mocking me?"

"Certainly not, Mr. Carson! I would never!" she assured him.

He didn't appear completely convinced, but he protested no further. "Yes. Well. It was all rather awkward, you see."

"Oh? In what way?" the cook wanted to know.

"Well, as I say, those items have a decidedly … _romantic_ … connotation. They would be more appropriate for a younger couple who are courting."

"Oh, I see. And you and Mrs. Hughes are neither young … nor a courting couple?" she challenged, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes! No! Well … we're not _old_!"

"Of course not!"

"And we're not … We're … " he foundered. "Oh, never mind. But you failed to include any champagne flutes in the hamper. We were forced to drink from the bottle!"

"Oh, I do apologize. I'm sorry you had to stoop to such uncouth behavior," she said, not even _trying_ to mask her sarcasm.

"But – the _same_ bottle! Both of us!"

"Oh, come now, Mr. Carson! You and Mrs. Hughes are buying a house together. I daresay you'll be sharing more than a bottle of champagne!"

Mr. Carson looked positively scandalized. He coughed and recovered himself enough to continue complaining. "And perhaps the next time, you might pack us some napkins. The whole affair was rather messy."

"Did I forget the napkins, too? Where is my head? But surely you could have used your handkerchief."

"And we did! Only … would _you_ like to explain to the laundry maids why my handkerchief has got Mrs. Hughes's lip color on it?"

" _I'm_ more interested in why your _cheek_ has got Mrs. Hughes's lip color on it!"

The poor man was mortified; he raised his hand to his cheek and tried feverishly to wipe away the incriminating mark, the location of which he seemed to guess precisely. Mrs. Patmore took pity on him. "Oh, come here," she said. "And give me that handkerchief, since it's already stained."

He took his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her, and she wiped the color from his cheek.

"Now. Let me wash this out for you," she offered, keeping the pink-stained white cotton square. "No one will know. You'd best get yourself upstairs to clean up and change. Go on!"

"Right. Er … Thank you, Mrs. Patmore." And he hurried off, fleeing from further embarrassment.

Mrs. Patmore grinned madly. She truly didn't suspect that there was anything more to the story than the obvious kiss on the cheek. However, if Mrs. Hughes had kissed Mr. Carson's cheek (and perhaps he had kissed hers), then it was reasonable to believe that more kisses would follow, and declarations and a marriage proposal and acceptance wouldn't be far behind.

 **A/N Thank you so much for sticking with me. You reviews are wonderful, and they keep me writing.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Thank you so much for sticking with me and for all your kindness throughout this story! This chapter is both the conclusion of libbybell's birthday story and my offering for Week 2 of the unofficial Downton Abbey Season 8.**

 _December 24, 1924, Yorkshire, Downton Abbey_

In the autumn, everything had been going so well – or so Mrs. Patmore had thought. Once the butler and housekeeper had gone looking at potential properties together, Mrs. Patmore had thought it would be only a short time before they chose one and purchased it. More recently, however, everything had seemed to fall apart. Mrs. Patmore had asked Mrs. Hughes in casual conversation one morning how things were progressing, and Mrs. Hughes had told her that she'd given the matter some further thought and had decided that the investment might not be such a good idea, after all – at least not from her own perspective. Mr. Carson had given Mrs. Patmore a slightly different picture of the situation; he'd said he still wished to proceed with their plan, and despite Mrs. Hughes's misgivings, he was hopeful that he might be able to "work something out" for them. But then, Mr. Carson had gone ahead and bought the house himself, and that confused Mrs. Patmore greatly. It hadn't seemed to her that her friends had fallen out. In fact, lately, they'd seemed closer than ever. Since the time Mr. Carson completed the sale of the house, Mrs. Hughes had seemed a little sad, and Mr. Carson had appeared somewhat apprehensive about something. Hut he'd been extremely solicitous of her welfare, and she in turn had been unusually tolerant of his excessive concern. Mrs. Patmore hadn't known what to make of it; she'd known only that neither of her friends seemed happy, and she'd wanted to make things better for them. She'd previously tried dropping strong hints and arranging tea dates and picnics for the would-be couple, but those efforts hadn't achieved her ultimate aim. And so in desperation, Mrs. Patmore had resulted to drastic measures.

First, she'd tried to lock the butler and housekeeper in the wine cellar together. While Mr. Carson was down there checking his inventory, she'd sent Mrs. Hughes down to him on a concocted errand. Then, as soon as they were both down in the cellar, Mrs. Patmore had wedged a small piece of wood between the door and its frame. Unfortunately, no sooner had she placed the obstacle in position than Mr. Molesley had happened by, noticed it, wondered how it had gotten there, and removed it. Her next attempt had met with a similar unsuccessful end. She'd tried to lure her two friends into the kitchen's store cupboard under the pretense of helping her with something, hoping then to excuse herself, thus leaving Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson alone in close quarters. That time it had been Daisy, needing to acquire some jam at the most inconvenient moment possible, who foiled the cook's plans. Next, Mrs. Patmore had requested some infrequently used towels and potholders that she knew were stored on the highest shelf in the linen cupboard. She'd asked Mr. Carson to go and retrieve them for her, since he was tall enough to reach them easily, and she'd suggested that Mrs. Hughes accompany him in order to identify the proper pieces, since Mrs. Hughes was familiar with the linens. Regrettably, in this instance, the ever-helpful Miss Baxter had overheard the request and had offered to take Mr. Molesley with her to perform the task.

Thwarted at every turn, Mrs. Patmore had grown ever more desperate. As a last resort, she'd told Andy, the new footman, to hang some mistletoe in the servants' hall, in the kitchen, and in the corridors, in the hope that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes might find themselves underneath a sprig – with or without the cook's intervention. It had taken several attempts to arrange matters just so, but finally, on the morning of Christmas Eve, Mrs. Patmore found herself in a situation that she thought she might be able to manipulate into a favorable circumstance.

On such a busy and important day as Christmas Eve, the three heads of staff were always awake and at work long before all the others. On this day, Mrs. Patmore was the first one downstairs, and she set to work in the kitchen. Mrs. Hughes followed shortly thereafter and came to the kitchen to say good morning and to obtain a cup of tea. While the two were exchanging pleasantries, Mr. Carson also arrived downstairs and stepped in to greet his coworkers. As the trio chatted pleasantly, Mrs. Patmore, under the guise of needing to procure some random kitchen item that was conveniently located near a hanging sprig of mistletoe, casually moved near the plant and remained there, performing some arbitrary and wholly unnecessary task. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson also drifted in that direction, in order to remain in close enough proximity to continue their conversation without having to shout across the kitchen.

Just as their discussion was drawing to a close and Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson were about to leave for her sitting room and his pantry, respectively, Mrs. Patmore suddenly cried, "Oh! Would you look at that?" and she pointed upwards with the wooden spoon she was holding.

"What's that? What do you mean?" asked Mr. Carson, looking uncertain.

"Why, it's mistletoe, Mr. Carson! And you're standing underneath it," she pointed out.

Mr. Carson cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably but made no other move. Mrs. Hughes simply stood there with wide eyes.

"Well?" Mrs. Patmore prompted.

"Right," he said quietly, and he leaned over and quickly kissed Mrs. Patmore's cheek, muttering a most _un_ enthusiastic "Happy Christmas."

"Not _me_ , ya ol' ninny!" she exclaimed, and she swatted him with the towel that she'd had hanging over her shoulder. " _Mrs. Hughes_ is the one standing next to you underneath the blasted thing!"

"Oh! Yes, I see," said Mr. Carson. Then he obediently bent down and kissed Mrs. Hughes's cheek.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes answered with a little laugh.

"Oh, you two are hopeless! Positively hopeless," Mrs. Patmore muttered in frustration, shaking her head as she turned away from them both and returned to her morning's tasks.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Late that night, after everyone else had gone up to bed after the festivities, only Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and Mrs. Patmore remained downstairs. As the cook finished putting the last remaining items away in the kitchen, she could hear the butler bustling about in his pantry, presumably putting away some silver pieces. The housekeeper made no noise, but the light in her sitting room was still on; she must have been working quietly at her desk, probably making some notes about the party for future reference, as she was wont to do after such an event. Just as Mrs. Patmore hung up the last clean pot, folded her towel, and set it down, Mrs. Hughes appeared in the kitchen.

"Mrs. Patmore? If you've a moment, Mr. Carson and I would like to speak with you," said Mrs. Hughes.

"Oh? Everything all right?" Mrs. Patmore asked nervously.

"Oh, yes. Everything is fine. We'll need but a moment of your time. We'll not keep you long."

"Very well."

Mrs. Patmore followed Mrs. Hughes to her sitting room, where Mr. Carson stood waiting.

Mrs. Patmore thought she knew what was coming. Her attempt to coax her two friends under the mistletoe together must have been the proverbial last straw. It had been her final effort in a long string of contrived and increasingly artificial situations designed to get the two stubborn fools to admit their feelings for each other. They had finally had enough of her machinations and were going order her to cease and desist. At this point, she would happily give up of her own volition, since all of her efforts were proving fruitless.

"All right," said the cook as soon as they were all in the room together. She raised her hands in surrender. "I give up. I'll stop. I'm sorry for interfering."

"What do you mean?" Mr. Carson wondered aloud, looking utterly confused. Could the daft man truly have been oblivious to all of her scheming?

Mrs. Hughes smiled widely and chuckled a little; _she_ certainly was aware of the plotting. "Mrs. Patmore, there's no need to apologize. In fact, Mr. Carson and I have some news to share with you."

"Oh?" said the cook.

"Yes. Mr. Carson's asked me to marry him," the housekeeper informed her friend while smiling at the butler and grasping his arm.

" _And_ … ?!" Mrs. Patmore demanded expectantly.

"' _And … ?!_ '" Mr. Carson exclaimed. "She's accepted, of course!" He seemed rather affronted that Mrs. Patmore had even considered the possibility that Mrs. Hughes might have rejected him. He proudly covered Mrs. Hughes's hand with his own and smiled down at his betrothed.

"Well, praise the Lord! It's about time!" Mrs. Patmore clapped her hands together in joy, then rushed to embrace the newly engaged couple, first Mrs. Hughes and then Mr. Carson. "Oh, I'm so happy for you both. Truly."

"Thank you, Mrs. Patmore. And thank you for your efforts on our behalf," said Mrs. Hughes.

"Efforts on your behalf? I've no idea what you mean," the cook insisted coyly. "But I'm going to head up now. I imagine you two have got plenty to discuss, and you don't need me about. My work here is done." And with that, Mrs. Patmore excused herself, shut the door on her way out, and heaved an enormous, exhausted, elated sigh of relief.

"Happy Christmas to us all!" she whispered to herself with a broad grin, and she mounted the stairs and carried herself off to bed, leaving the two lovebirds to themselves.

 **A/N Thank you very much for your generous support for this story. Libbybell, I hope you've enjoyed your gift. Real love and virtual hugs to all!**


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